Prologue Two: Paper Heart

The official cause of death was asphyxiation.

In the corner table of the dim ballroom, rented out for the Victors' pre-party, Rusk sipped on his lemon water, not able to stomach anything else, trying to clear his mind by listening to the rain falling outside. President Romulus Snow's private announcement still rang in his head—Faridah had been found dead in a back alley of the shady Aureola Sector of the Capitol, her neck bearing marks from the rope that had been tightly wound around it.

Dead?

This was a joke. it had to be! He had just seen Faridah a few hours ago with his own eyes! Just like that—gone? Oh, how he wished he had said more! He gulped down the bile that rose in his throat and pushed the glass of water away.

How?

He gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he mulled over everything they'd been told. None of the details made sense. When the train arrived in the Capitol, she was still alive—he had seen her in the distance when he stepped off the train. He hadn't thought much of it, believing that he would see her again at the party that very night. But in the time it took him to settle into his room at the Victor's Tower, she had wandered off into the Aureola Sector and gotten herself killed.

Boom.

Thunder exploded outside the building, bringing up flashbacks of the cannons in the Games. The metallic taste of blood registered in his mind. He grabbed for his glass again, gulping down more water to rid the blood from his tongue. The acidic water did nothing to ease his pain, leaving a stinging sensation where he had bitten a hole on the inside on his cheek. It was just like the stupid party he was at. He had chosen to still come, hoping that the flashing lights, the blaring music, the environment would numb his mind from his punched-out, throbbing heart, but all it did was remind him of her.

Her.

How she'd intentionally search the corners of the ballroom for him and pull him into conversations with the other Victors. How she'd encourage him with her reassuring smile and a "you'll be fine—you're awesome." How she'd tell him that she was glad to see him, even when a depressive aura surrounded him and his very presence damped the atmosphere. He used to smile weakly and play along, slightly annoyed at the cheesiness of it all.

But now, he sat alone in the shadows of the dimly lit room. The colorful lights that swirled everywhere never found him; the Avoxes that circled the place with platters of food never approached. Chatter filled the air, yet not once was a single word ever directed at him.

He had never felt so forgotten.

He lurched at the realization, as if a circle saw was widening the gaping hole in his heart. He blinked twice and then closed his eyes, willing himself to disassociate from his feelings, listening as the conversations around him came into focus and his own thoughts disappeared, fading into the background haze like the worthless chicken feed it was.

"Have you tried the new coffee place on Eveline Boulevard? It's literally the best place ever."

"We'll have to go together and catch up! Let me tell you about this gorgeous idea I had the other day… "

He couldn't pin the first voice to a name—District One, maybe?—but he recognized the other one as Darah Sommers, District Ten Victor of the 135th Games.

District Ten. The traitor district, the one that turned her back on her countrymen when they needed her the most—at least, that's what Vannes Fernet, his own mentor from years ago, always said. Much like the other District Nine Victors, Van despised the trained districts with a seething anger that often alienated Rusk.

But that was too stressful of a topic, and so he let his ears wander again, picking up a sharp female voice as a few others walked by, carrying wind of a different conversation.

"That announcement was absolute bull. Does he really expect us to believe that he had nothing to do with it?"

District Four, was it? And an announcement? There had only been one recently…

A male voice responded."It doesn't make any sense, though. Why would they target her? She's been nothing short of a model citizen."

"I don't know, either… though you know—she was getting really close with that Nine guy."

"Who?"

"Can't think of the name. But District Nine's always up to no good—maybe they got her into something dangerous."

A frustrated sigh. "Faridah didn't deserve this."

Rusk slinked down in his seat, heart pounding as the two loyalist District Four Victors moved on and their voices faded away. Did they think he was at fault for Faridah's death? The pain had returned, its tenacity raging like a dust storm that clouded his mind. Her missing smile… her absent laugh… her now-dead eyes… his fault?

Perhap I will have a drink.

He staggered to his feet, as if he were already intoxicated by the stench of painful memories and worrisome accusations. Slowly, he found his way to the bar, where the Avox gave him a sympathetic look.

"I'll take a…" He cleared his throat, his eyes running down the list of unfamiliar drink mixes, ordered by the amount of alcohol, until he landed on one near the bottom. "I don't know… 'Rustic Road'?"

Now the Avox looked really sympathetic. Rusk looked away, avoiding the pitying gaze, drumming his fingers on the mahogany counter, anticipating the moment when the burning liquid would run down his throat and he'd temporarily numb out the sorrow. He wasn't usually a huge drinker, but in this moment, he just needed something to carry him till tomorrow.

A sharp female voice, the same one from before, jolted him out of his spiral. "Hey. Nine."

He whirled around. Now that she stood before him, he recognized her as Avisa Keel of District Four, Victor of the 131st Hunger Games, with dark hair tied back and fierce makeup that nearly made him shrink away. "Oh… Hey."

She smiled, but it held no warmth. "I just wanted to ask you some questions about the announcement."

"I'm sorry," he said, blurting out the words on instinct before he had a chance to process her statement.

Her eyes narrowed. "So you claim responsibility?"

"No! I'm just…" He cursed himself. Why had he said those words? "I'm sorry for your loss."

"You should be!" she snapped, blinking back angry tears. "Because she's gone now, and nothing you do will ever bring her back!"

The words dug into him like knives, leaving a hole next to the one already there. But he couldn't bring himself to feel angry. Avisa and Faridah had been close.

Somehow, his subdued silence only seemed to anger her more. "If only she'd never talked to you good-for-nothing rebels! Maybe she wouldn't be gone."

"I'm sorry—"

"Sorry isn't enough!" She was wiping at her eyes now; her mascara smudged beyond repair. "I hope you're happy that—"

"Shut up, Four." Van's gruff voice suddenly appeared, growling at her. Rusk felt the older man's calloused hand on his shoulder, standing by him in solidarity against the 'horrible loyalist.' "Leave the man alone, will ya?"

Avisa's face flushed red with rage, but she didn't respond, choking back sobs as she glared daggers at them, pointing her quivering finger at Rusk. A spring of emotion seemed to well up in her chest, and she turned tail and ran, burying her face in her hands as she collapsed into the arms of her fellow District Four mentor, who stared at them with icicles from his eyes.

But… she had a point. Rusk suddenly became aware of how uncomfortable he felt with Van's "comforting" arm around his shoulder. What was the man doing here, anyway? Did it mean that the rest of his dysfunctional family was in the Capitol too?

"Are you okay?" Vannes said, patting him on the back.

"I… Yes…" He struggled to form a coherent response. "What are you doing here?"

The man laughed. "Matsa wanted to come early, so we all followed to keep her out of trouble."

"Oh." He forced a chuckle. "Thanks."

"You betcha." The man smiled down at him warmly. "You're part of the family, y'know? If we don't watch each other's backs, who will?"

The smile brought him back momentarily to his moments on the first train ride, when the man reassured him that victory was possible, that being reaped wasn't the end of the world, that it was worth trying to survive. But this was different. The words were the same, the smile was the same, the arm was the same—yet it felt so wrong. Faridah was dead, and Van's apparent indifference hurt just as much as Avisa's accusations, tearing further into his shredded heart.

He decided in the moment that he didn't want to be anywhere near Van or Avisa or any of his fellow Victors.

Quietly, he excused himself, pulling away from Van, ignoring the bartender's outstretched hand, weaving through the sea of Victors as he strode towards the exit and out the door. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed. Rain poured down on him, flooding his eyes with water and his ears with the rushing water.

Finally. A sound to drown out all the others.

A/N Here's the second of four prologues—the other two will be posted next Wednesday and the Wednesday after that. Stage One submissions close in less than one week! Everything you need (including every victor introduced) will be at:

rebellionbringsruin. weebly. com

Our little cast of characters is getting expanded! You'll see more of them in the future.

Thoughts?